Last Request
by breathing is over-rated
Summary: Sherlock gets himself into a trap and John comes to the rescue but not without paying a price. Song fic. Rated because I can.


**AN**- While I would love to say that I'm back for good, I'm not. Sorry people. I'll try to update a few things but I can't promise because everything is still hectic and generally sucky.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or the song (Last Request by Paolo Nutini)

Enjoy

B  
x

* * *

**Last Request**

'No! Sherlock!' John roared as the bullets ripped all around them. This had been a stupid idea, he should have never left Sherlock to go alone. He'd been angry and upset and now Sherlock was in danger because of it. He grabbed his gun and fired back at the gang, he knew they were just kids- just hired hands- but he didn't care. He had to protect Sherlock. He needed to protect him. The detective whirled round and the soldier grabbed him and forced him down, out of harms way.

Sherlock knew it was a trap the moment he'd stepped onto the street. The gang appeared from nowhere, they gave him no chance to talk his way out and opened fire on him. From somewhere in the chaos, he heard a familiar voice call him. He whipped his head round to see John-set and determined, a magnificent sight and one that he cherished. His flatmate took hold of him and pushed him to the floor, all the while returning the fire of the perpetrators. Sherlock smiled at his doctor. The gang were on the run now, thankfully he'd had his phone on him as he sent Lestrade a quick text.

'Thank you, John.' The detective said, he wasn't one for giving any kind of sentiment but he found himself spouting them when John did something. It was as if he couldn't help it. John smiled back at them. In the thundering silence, a single bullet ripped through the air. The doctor's whole body shook then he collapsed onto the hard concrete. Sherlock leapt forward and helped him to the floor.

'John!' He cried out. The doctor coughed and blood billowed on the front of his jumper.

'Sherlock.' He croaked, trying to sit up. The detective hushed him, he single handedly dialled the ambulance and used every favour he had to get one as quickly as possible, then he turned back to his doctor.

'_Slow down, Lie down,  
Remember it's just you and me._' He cooed softly, trying to make John more comfortable.  
'_Don't sell out, bow out,  
Remember how this used to be._' Sherlock only stopped his voice from croaking by sheer force of will. He would not allow John to see him breaking. The doctor hacked a cough and gripped Sherlock's shirt.

'_I just want you closer,  
__Is that alright?  
Lets get closer tonight_.' John rasped. Sherlock was sure his friend was becoming delirious but he conceded and sat beside the doctor, petting his blond hair which was now drenched in sweat. The soldier looked him straight in the eye.

'_Grant my last request,  
And just let me hold you.  
Don't shrug your shoulders,  
Lay down beside me.  
Sure, I can accept that we're going nowhere,  
But one last time let's go there,  
Lay down beside me.'_ By the end, his voice was little more than a whisper. Sherlock whimpered in reply as he again did as asked and lay on the ground, pulling John into him.

'Speak to me, Sherlock.' The doctor pleaded. The detective felt stunned. John knew who it was he was talking to. He wasn't delirious. But that meant...

'Sherlock please. If I'm going to die now, I want to die hearing your voice.' John coughed harshly, bringing up blood. The detective's chest convulsed as he heard those words. John was _not_ going to die. He forbidded it. But all the while, a voice in the back of his mind was telling him about the high probability that the good Dr Watson wasn't going to make it. Bullet wounds to the chest didn't have a high survival rate, after all, especially from such a close distance. With a sort of hollow feeling, Sherlock started to speak, he didn't know what he was saying but the words were provided by something unknown inside of him.

'_I've found, that I'm bound  
To wander down that one way road.  
And__ I realise all about your lies,  
But I'm no wiser than the fool I was before_.' Sherlock answered in a low voice. The sirens grew louder and the blaring lights enveloped them. The paramedics appeared from all directions and pulled John onto a stretcher. Sherlock tried to follow them but his path was blocked.

'Are you his next of kin?' The woman asked.

'No.' Sherlock answered in a daze, then cursed himself for not lying.

'Then I'm afraid you can't come with us in the ambulance.' She replied. From inside the vehicle, The doctor screamed and thrashed.

'SHERLOCK!' He bellowed in such a way that it seemed to tear his vocal cords in two. The woman looked cautiously at the detective, suddenly realising who it was. Without another word, she stepped aside and allowed him in. Sherlock didn't need to be told, he was beside John in an instant, the IV fluid was already being sent into his system through a drip and the paramedics were cutting off the jumper and shirt to get to the skin underneath.

'Sherlock.' John moaned. Sherlock grabbed his hand and squeezed it lightly.

'I'm here John.' He replied.

'_J-just want you closer,  
__Is that a-right?  
Lts get closer t-night.' _The doctor's eyes were flickering as both his voice and consciousness were failing him.

'_Gr-nt my last request,  
And just lt me hold you.  
Dnt shrug your shulders,  
L-y down beside me.  
Sure, __I can accpt that wre goin n-where,  
But one lst time let's go there,  
L-y down beside me.' _The paramedics seemed to not hear the doctor's mumbled ramblings, Sherlock decided that they must hear stuff like this all the time. Sentimental drivel which would only mean something to the person they were saying it to. Not that he understood what John was trying to say. Some of it he could guess, John thought he was dying-the detective ignored the part of his mind telling him that John _was _dying-it was natural for him to want human contact, some comfort. As for the rest of it, he refused to believe that John had feelings for him which were any way other than that of a close friend. Clearly, his flatmate was confusing him with someone else. Not that any of that mattered. One thing he knew was that he cared for John, regardless of what Mycroft said. He held onto the doctor's hand as if it were his own lifeline.

'I'm not going anywhere.' The detective promised his friend. 'And you aren't going to die.' At the last word, Sherlock's voice finally cracked. The ambulance sped through the streets, leaking John's life-force behind them.

* * *

At the hospital, Sherlock still had a grip on his doctors hand. The soldier had passed into unconsciousness about a minute before they arrived. They were bustled down the corridors straight to an operating theatre.

'You can't come in here.' Some man said. Sherlock nodded numbly as he was lead way to a small group of seats. Now that everything was over, his whole body shook from the excess adrenalin. He tried sitting down but he couldn't keep his body still and he leapt up, pacing the floor instead.

* * *

_Tell me how can, how can this be wrong?_

* * *

Sherlock's mind was buzzing. John was going to be fine. He had never felt such awful feelings before. They physically hurt, a dull ache in his chest, like he was the one who had been shot. John's words rang in his head.

_Grant my last request,  
And just let me hold you.  
Don't shrug your shoulders,  
Lay down beside me.  
Sure,__ I can accept that we're going nowhere,  
__But one last time let's go there,  
__Lay down beside me._

The detective curled up on the floor and closed his eyes, which had been brimming with tears.

* * *

_Lay down beside me._

* * *

A surgeon appeared out of the room and gave Sherlock an apologetic look. The consulting detective didn't hear what was said next. He was lead somewhere but he didn't know where, or even if he walked himself. John was on a white hospital bed, hooked up to various machines. He looked like a broken doll, not quite alive. Sherlock shook as he all but ran to his friend and gripped his hand.

'John.' He sobbed.

'He can't hear you, he's in a coma.' The nurse provided helpfully, with a hint of sympathy.

'John.' Sherlock's voice was barely a whisper, he dragged a chair over to the bed and sat down, resting his head on John's legs. He didn't let go off his doctors' hand.

* * *

_One last time let's go there,  
Lay down beside me._

* * *

When John woke up, he was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital ward, completely unable to move. The doctor panicked but he was soon calmed again when the wild curls of his flatmate looked up at him with a mirrored expression off fear. Sherlock's pale face was streaked with tear tracks and the wear and tear on not sleeping, worrying and not washing for days on end. John smiled comfortingly at him. Everything was a blur but for some reason, his friend was lying with him on the hospital bed, clutching tightly as if scared to let go.

'John.' The man whispered, broken. The soldier lay back down and allowed the detective to snuggle up next to him. His chest ached dully, like he'd been shot. With a grimace, he realised he had been shot. So many questions were brimming up inside him but John fought them all down, he could ask questions later. Now he just wanted to sleep with his protector beside him.

* * *

**AN**- Yay, happy ending. Haven't had one of them in a while.  
As always, please review. I can't promise I'll even see them for a while but I love to know what you lot think.

B  
x


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